


The dish ran away with the spoon

by seanchaidh



Category: Star Trek XI
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Xenopolycythemia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 08:38:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seanchaidh/pseuds/seanchaidh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones deals with xenopolycythemia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The dish ran away with the spoon

**Author's Note:**

> From the buckleup_meme prompt: xenopolycythemia, no death fic.

He's a doctor, damn it, and he should know these things. Hell, he's a surgeon. He can navigate his way through the body like it's a starship on a cruise, and he's worked with tissues and organs so delicate, hands never trembling, that he's breathed out a sigh of relief each time the surgery's over.

So why is he standing in front of his table, feeling like the world will fall apart? He's staring at the hypos and completely unable to remember which one he's supposed to use, for what, and how often. He knows Geoffrey and Christine explained it to him, and it's noted somewhere on his padd.

He just can't find it within himself to move there. All he can do is see the hypos and what they represent. It's the means to gain control over his life, and he doesn't know where to start.

~~~

Four months ago, routine physicals had picked up the first symptoms of xenopolycythemia in Leonard's system; he'd been feeling tired and breathless after more strenuous work but had blamed it on his body getting older. The diagnosis explained those symptoms, along with a few others he hadn't really noticed: random itchiness and the way his cheeks aways seemed flushed.

The outlook wasn't good, and Leonard was looking at a limited timeline. Twelve months at the most, but likely only six months of quality time before his symptoms advanced to the point where he couldn't function. There really wasn't any treatment, except to treat one problem at a time, and hopefully find something through research. Leonard had elected to keep working, calling it the best way to handle adjusting to the situation, and giving himself time to plan an out when the time came.

The worst part of is that Jim didn't know how to act around him. He's almost a case study on grief, as he moves from denial to anger to sadness, in record time. He's far from accepting, which is a relief, but he has a painful optimism that's almost too much to bear. The first nights, they just held each other, as Jim whispered, "Anything you need, you tell me. I'll bring you the moon, if you ask."

Leonard won't ask, but Jim tries anyway.

~~~

He's working half-days now, too exhausted and dizzy by the mid-afternoon to make it through the full day. He still tries, and Christine and Geoffrey humour him as he works, and he tries to ignore it. He knows he looks sick now, the extra weight he used to carry now melted away until he's so thin, he thinks he looks two-dimensional.

So wrapped in just surviving, he doesn't know how the Enterprise is being sent out of its way, beyond the scope of any logical mission, on a whim. He'll get the details later, but Jim's off on a wild goose chase, searching for an asteroid they should be meeting in ten years.

But thanks to an ancient Vulcan, they're moving up the timeline by a decade.

Leonard's resting in his office when Jim comes in, and for the first time in ages, the shadows in his eyes are gone. He kneels down in front of the sofa and grasps Leonard's hands tightly.

"We've got a cure."

Jim's lips are pressed to his before he can reply, the kiss providing the first taste of hope Leonard's had in months.

~~~

"Bones?"

Leonard isn't ready to turn away from the hypos, still unsure where to begin. He knows they're for the symptoms, and for the new symptoms he'll get when the treatments begin. His hand trembles as he tries to decide which one to take, and he isn't sure anymore.

"Bones." Strong arms wrap around his middle, anchoring the brittleness Leonard feels, and offering a calm that soothes the rough edges. Jim presses gentle kisses to his jaw and next to his ear. "You okay?"

"I... don't know where to begin," Leonard says, hearing how his voice trembles and he's coming apart despite himself. His legs feel weak, but he knows for the first time he won't fall. He leans against Jim's support. "There's too much."

"Nah, we'll just do one step at a time," Jim tells him, and sets him down on the sofa. Jim's smile is bright. "I saw you taking notes when M'Benga was discussing the treatment with you. Where's your padd?"

Leonard points wordlessly to it, and as Jim fetches it, a rhyme suddenly comes to mind. Even though he feels numb, he feels a smile begin to touch his own lips as he murmurs, "'Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle.'"

Coming back with the padd in hand, Jim looks at him oddly. "'The cow jumped over the moon. The little dog laughed to see such sport, and the dish ran away with the spoon.' What brought that nursery rhyme to mind?"

He felt calm as he watched Jim consult the notes, and began to arrange the hypos in an order that would probably make sense later. "How did you make this happen?"

"I promised you the moon," Jim says, and hands over the first hypo filled with... something. "I did what needed to be done, Bones. Do you want to give it to yourself, or do you need a hand?"

His grip is too shaky, so Leonard tilts his head to side, baring his neck. Jim's touch is careful and oddly precise, and after the medications are administered, he's being guided to bed and tucked in.

"Thought you said doctors made the worst patients," Jim teases, settling himself close and running fingers through his hair.

"You'll find out later," Leonard murmurs, closing his eyes. This is just the start. He knows it's going to get worse before it gets better, and he's scared to go through it.

Jim leans in and presses a kiss to his forehead. "I can't wait to see it."


End file.
